


It's Lonely at the Top

by wilddragonflying



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Rhys, CEO Handsome Jack, COO Rhys, Choking, Creampie, Desk Sex, M/M, Murder Husbands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pushy Bottoms, Rough Sex, Second-in-Command Rhys, Top Jack, Trans Male Character, Trans Rhys, Unprotected Sex, Unsafe Sex, and Rhys has def done it in the past, but they both do it like one of them is Handsome Jack, hand-wavy future tech, i mean they don't kill people together in this, the smut's in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Rhys had been curious when the message had come in on his ECHOcomm from Handsome Jack himself, ‘requesting’ Rhys’s presence in his office that evening, after his last meeting. He’d always admired Handsome Jack, but working much more closely with the man over the past months had tempered his admittedly embarrassing fanboy tendencies into something more… genuine.It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to call him into his office, or barge into Rhys’s unannounced in order to talk business, and Rhys couldn’t pretend, even to himself, that he didn’t enjoy their, dare he say it, banter during those conversations, the way that Jack eyed him speculatively every so often, or the warmth of his hand when he clapped Rhys on the shoulder in approval when Rhys suggested something particularly conniving or bloodthirsty.





	1. Chapter 1

Rhys doesn’t try to stop the slow smile spreading across his expression as he takes in the view of Helios and Pandora below. It had taken a lot of time, money, and blood to get here, but here he was - the office of the Chief Operating Officer.

 _His_ office.

Only one floor below Handsome Jack’s, but honestly, the view is probably exactly the same, Rhys muses. He allows himself a full five minutes to marvel at the simple fact that he’s _finally_ here before he gets to work. He has plans, after all, and they won’t make themselves happen.

* * *

The next couple of months fly by, and Rhys enjoys every moment. Dealing with the board becomes _fun_ in a way it never was before, after he makes an example of one of the members who was skimming more than an acceptable amount from the funds - _Thanks for the heads-up, Vaughn, and you’re welcome for the promotion._ Jack had simply sat back and watched, expression intrigued, as Rhys backed the man into a confession. Even now, Rhys can’t help but smirk at the memory.

_“Thank you for that wonderful presentation,” he said, approaching the man to clap a hand to his shoulder. “I’d ask security to escort you to the nearest airlock, but frankly you’ve already wasted enough of Hyperion’s funds; I’d rather not waste the power on venting you.” The man’s expression had gone relieved, only to morph into horrified shock as Rhys had drawn his knife, ramming it in between two of the man’s ribs and almost directly into the heart. One swift motion, and the body collapsed like a puppet. The board meeting had been over quickly after that, and the look Jack had given him was…_

_Indescribable, even after all this time to think about it._

Rhys had been curious when the message had come in on his ECHOcomm from Handsome Jack himself, ‘requesting’ Rhys’s presence in his office that evening, after his last meeting. He’d always admired Handsome Jack, but working much more closely with the man over the past months had tempered his admittedly embarrassing fanboy tendencies into something more… genuine.

It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to call him into his office, or barge into Rhys’s unannounced in order to talk business, and Rhys couldn’t pretend, even to himself, that he didn’t enjoy their, dare he say it, _banter_ during those conversations, the way that Jack eyed him speculatively every so often, or the warmth of his hand when he clapped Rhys on the shoulder in approval when Rhys suggested something particularly conniving or bloodthirsty.

Still, a late meeting with Jack means that he’ll likely be working through dinner, but his secretary doesn’t deserve that - that’s part of the beauty of his ECHOeye and arm implants, he can record the meeting and make any notes needed as he goes, and as long as he doesn’t lose his head, he won’t lose the notes. ‘Course, if he’s in danger of losing his head, he’s probably got bigger problems.

So, Rhys dismisses his secretary on his way out, sends her home to her wife with a wink and a wave as he steps into the elevator to go up one floor. He waves to Meg, Jack’s secretary, waiting for the elevator herself on Jack’s floor, before making his way through the antechamber and to Jack’s office door. It opens readily after he holds his cybernetic palm to the scanner, and Rhys strides inside, absently noting the lack of fresh cleaning solution. Must have been a slow day, then.

Jack is waiting for him at his desk, his feet propped up on the expensive piece of furniture, and he waves Rhys forward imperiously. “Rhysie!” he says, grinning - there’s something sharp about the edges of it, something that makes Rhys stand just a little straighter. “Just the man I wanted to see. You still enjoying that office of yours?”

“It’s got a hell of a view, so yes,” Rhys laughs. “Could do with a little less paperwork, but I knew what I was signing up for.”

Jack hums, his gaze intent as he studies Rhys; it’s only long experience climbing the ranks that keeps Rhys from fidgeting. “So you’ve no designs on my job, then?”

“Oh, hell no,” Rhys snorts. “Quite frankly, nobody could pay me enough to deal with all of that - “ He waves a hand at Jack’s desk and the papers and tablets scattered across it “ - on a daily basis.”

One of Jack’s eyebrows rises, and he looks at Rhys speculatively. “You really mean that,” he says, muses really. Rhys waits him out, unsure of where, exactly, Jack’s going with this. “Funny, because the last guy in your position tried to kill me after two weeks.”

“Hendrik was an idiot,” Rhys says flatly. “ _If_ I were planning to kill you, I’d take my time to set it up. A year, at least.”

Jack laughs at that, relaxing into his seat as he smirks. “Only a year, pumpkin?”

“At least,” Rhys repeats, arms crossing as he looks at Jack with a raised eyebrow, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. “Careful, Jack; your paranoia’s starting to show.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to get a read on you, kiddo,” Jack says, grinning. “You’re ambitious, and the way you’ve handled the board and the other department heads since you moved up in the world… Hell, I’m just surprised that you haven’t been eyeing me like some kind of fucking psycho from Pandora.”

“You mean like how you’ve been eyeing me?” Rhys asks, smirk growing. “Trust me, Jack - it’s lonely at the top, and I happen to like where I’m at just fine. Less paperwork, and less people out for my head. I ever get bored, maybe I’ll start thinking of some way to bump you off to keep myself occupied, but…”

“But?” Jack asks, gaze sharpening as his feet drop from the desk and he pushes himself out of the chair.

“But I happen to like you, Jack,” Rhys says, tracking the movement as Jack rounds the desk. “Be a shame if you died so soon after we just started getting to know each other.”

Jack snorts, coming to stand just in front of Rhys, close enough that Rhys can feel the fabric of his jacket brushing against his flesh arm. “You saying you’d miss me, Rhysie?” There’s a smirk curving his mouth, something Rhys can’t quite identify making his eyes flash, something hot curling in Rhys’s gut, lower.

Rhys hums. “Maybe,” he allows. “You haven’t exactly given me a whole lot to miss, though.”

That gets a bark of a laugh. “Are you feeling _neglected,_ Rhys?” Jack purrs, stance shifting until he’s looming over Rhys, something close to a leer on his face. “Daddy not giving you enough attention?”

Rhys makes a face. “Call yourself ‘Daddy’ again, and I’m walking out of this office,” he says flatly, a promise and a threat in one.

Jack cackles at that, and then he reaches out, one finger coming to tap against the center of the circular tattoo on the side of Rhys’s neck, eyes darkening when Rhys shudders at the touch. “Well, I certainly don’t want _that,_ ” he murmurs.

Uncrossing his arms and leaning just a little bit closer, Rhys lets his gaze drop to Jack’s mouth - to the part of his mask that covers his mouth, anyway - as he murmurs, “And what _is_ it that you want, exactly?” He’d made use of every weapon at his disposal through the years climbing Helios’s corporate ladder, and his body was just another weapon, in more ways than one. He didn’t want Jack’s position, but Jack’s _favor_ … That could be worth quite a bit.

“I want,” Jack starts, the finger that had tapped against Rhys’s ink sliding gently across his skin until it’s used to tilt Rhys’s chin up, “to see just how far that blue tattoo of yours goes, cupcake. I want to get my mouth on every - goddamn - _i_ _nch -_ of you, see just how pretty I can mark up all that pale skin.” Jack’s eyes track the movement of Rhys’s tongue, darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. “What do _you_ want, kitten?”

Rhys lets himself grin, slow like the dawn creeping across Pandora below them. “I want to see some bruises across my thighs from you bending me over that desk of yours,” he purrs. “And I want to walk out of here _limping._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the sex chapter 1 promised! As a heads up, I'm an agender person with a vagina, but here Rhys is a trans man who has had top surgery and elected not to have the future version of bottom surgery(which Jack alludes to at one point), and he's comfortable having vaginal sex. This is not intended as a representation of trans people and their sexualities/comfort levels, and is only applicable to this specific character in this specific AU.

Jack’s eyes sharpen, his grin wolfish as one hand snakes around Rhys’s waist, spinning them until he can lean into and past Rhys, sweeping just enough papers and tablets off of the table with a clatter to lift Rhys onto the desk. “I think I can arrange that,” he says, smirking. “Got anything you want me to know before we start this?”

Rhys lets his legs fall open, making space for Jack between them that’s quickly filled, Jack crowding against him. “You’re paying for this suit to be ironed, dry cleaned, or replaced if you do anything to it,” he says, his cybernetic hand drifting over Jack’s chest, the other curling around the back of his neck. 

“Well, of course I am,” Jack laughs. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Rhysie.”

“Other than that,” Rhys says, letting the hand around Jack’s neck shift upwards, fingers sifting through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, “just keep an ear out for me to say ‘stop.’”

“I can do that,” Jack murmurs, his own hands wandering over Rhys’s clothes, finding a grip on his hips that’s just shy of bruising. “What about kissing? You would not believe the number of times I’ve stared at that smart mouth of yours and wondered what it’d taste like.”

Rhys isn’t ashamed of the way his breath hitches, not when it makes Jack’s gaze darken like _that._ “Kissing is fine,” he says breathlessly. “More than fine.” The last word is lost as Jack descends on him, pushing and pulling at the same time until Rhys is pressed against Jack from mouth to groin, moaning into the kiss Jack presses upon him. 

The mask is softer than Rhys was expecting, far more yielding than he would have thought possible. If he didn’t know better, he might even be tempted to think that he was kissing any other non-masked person on Helios. But the thing is, he _does_ know better, can’t even think of pretending otherwise with the way Jack is _claiming_ him, the possessive feel of his hands roaming over Rhys’s body, pushing impatiently at the clasps of his suit jacket, pushing it off of his shoulders roughly.

“Dry cleaning,” Rhys reminds him as he reluctantly removes his own hands from Jack’s body in favor of shrugging off his jacket, tugging his tie loose enough to slip over his head and undoing his shirt in record time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack mutters, distracted, his mouth moving from Rhys’s jaw back to Rhys’s lips, another biting kiss that shifts focus again, ghosting over the other side of Rhys’s jaw before Jack’s tongue traces over the line of the tattoo on his neck, and Rhys gasps, arching into the touch. “You like that?” Jack asks, rhetorically, and Rhys can _hear_ the smirk in his tone. 

Rhys retaliates by pressing forward, his left hand tangling in Jack’s hair, the metal of his right pressing against the rather obvious bulge in Jack’s pants. He relishes the breath Jack sucks in, smirks as he leans forward, just enough to whisper, “Do _you_ like _that?_ ” into Jack’s ear before biting down on the lobe hard enough to get a moan out of the CEO. Jack had grilled him extensively on his arm long before Rhys had even been considered for the position of COO, and the look in his eyes as he’d stared at the tech, at Rhys’s ECHOeye, his neural port… 

Well, Rhys knew at least _one_ of Jack’s interests right off the bat, and he’s not ashamed to use that knowledge to his full advantage.

“You little shit,” Jack growls, rearing back enough so that he can shuck his own shirt, actually _fumbling_ his belt in his haste to get his pants off, and Rhys doesn’t laugh, but he does grin, using the space Jack’s given him to shuck his own shoes, socks, and pants. When Jack pauses, his hands on his waistband, Rhys can’t help but spread his legs a little further, arch his back a bit more as he realizes what’s caught Jack’s attention.

“Like what you see?” Rhys purrs, letting one of his hands drift over his thigh, in and _up_ until he’s dragging just the tips of his fingers against the fabric of his panties, already damp with his own slick. 

“Well, that explains why I didn’t feel what I was expecting,” Jack says, hands abandoning his pants and underwear somewhere around mid-thigh. “ _Fuck,_ Rhys,” he groans, hands skimming up Rhys’s ribs, thumbs tracing the faint scars on his chest before moving lower, his hand covering Rhys’s, pressing more firmly and grinding the fabric under his palm against Rhys’s cock. “Not a lot of people keep this, the kind of tech we have now.”

“I know,” Rhys hums, preoccupied with exploring the skin that Jack’s bared to him, mapping out the various scars criss-crossing his torso. “I like it, though. Like how it affects people. Besides, like you said - We’ve got a _lot_ of good tech these days. I want to stick my cock in someone, I can make that happen. Lot harder to emulate a pussy, though.”

“Yeah.” Jack’s clearly distracted, and Rhys allows himself an internal cheer at the effect he’s having on the other man, and a moment to silently freak out that he’s about to have _Handsome Jack_ fuck him on _his desk._ Man, if only seventeen-year-old him could see them now.

When Jack’s fingers slip under his panties, Rhys indulges them both in a shameless moan. It’s been a while since he’s had the time to go looking for a partner, and that first touch from someone else is always electric. Rhys can tell that Jack knows what he’s doing, his fingers confident as they dip between his folds, slide up to rub a circle around Rhys’s cock. Rhys uses the extra strength in his right arm to haul Jack into a biting kiss, his hips rolling into Jack’s touch. 

“Eager, aren’t you, pumpkin?” Jack murmurs, head ducking to suck a mark into the inked skin at the side of Rhys’s neck.

“I haven’t gotten laid in months,” Rhys answers absently, hands drifting down Jack’s chest, fingers tracing over the scars bared to his view. “And I _know_ you know how hot you are, _Handsome_ Jack.”

Jack laughs, scrapes his teeth over the tendon in Rhys’s neck, eliciting a breathless gasp. “Mm, confidence does it for you, Rhysie?”

“I don’t have time for flattery,” Rhys retorts, moving his right hand to circle Jack’s cock, smirking at the curse that flies past Jack’s lips in response, hot enough to brand his skin. “That’s not what this is, Jack.”

“No, it’s not,” Jack agrees, hips jerking, thrusting his cock into the loose hold Rhys makes of his fist. “Not this time. _Fuck,_ you’re fucking soaking, cupcake.”

Rhys lets his legs fall open wider, hides his smirk in Jack’s throat, licks the sweat from the skin there before he bites, just light enough to avoid leaving a mark, just hard enough to sting. “C’mon, Jack - you’re not getting _shy,_ are you?” he taunts.

Jack’s free hand flies up, buries itself in Rhys’s hair, tugs sharply; he swallows Rhys’s moan in a kiss, but when he slides one finger into Rhys, he pulls back, lets Rhys’s moan at the stretch heat the air between them. “Did that feel shy?” Jack taunts, smirking when Rhys swears at him, rocks his hips to take Jack’s finger deeper. Rhys swears again when a second finger joins the first, but he lets Jack have his fun, content to relax on Jack’s desk, let the easy pleasure of being teased wash over him until it becomes too much.

He wraps his hand around Jack’s cock again, gives it a slow stroke. “I believe I said something about wanting some bruises on my thighs,” he hums when Jack finally looks up at him. “You planning on obliging me anytime soon?”

“Impatient little shit,” Jack grumbles, but he eases his fingers from Rhys nonetheless, steps back and tugs Rhys off of the desk, gives him room to turn around. 

Rhys bends himself over the desk, hums, pleased, when he realizes that it really is at the perfect angle to leave bruises exactly where he wants them, and glances over his shoulder at Jack, eyebrow raised expectantly. “Well?”

Jack presses closer, all but drapes himself over Rhys’s back. Rhys can feel the head of Jack’s belt, the teeth of his zipper biting against the skin on the backs of his thighs, and it makes his breathing hitch. Jack’s hand slides up his arm, over his shoulder and around his neck, lifting Rhys’s head, tilting it so Jack can whisper, “Want me to wrap up, sweetheart?”

“ _Fuck_ no,” Rhys sighs, pushing his ass back into Jack, feeling the hot, hard line of his cock so _close_ to where he wants it. “I know you’re clean, Jack. Hacked your medical records. I’m clean, got the implant.”

“Ballsy little fucker,” Jack hums, nose dragging against the sensitive skin behind Rhys’s ear. “Pretty damn sure of yourself, were you?”

“Hopeful,” Rhys corrects. “And thoughtful. Figured if this ever happened, I wanted the _full_ experience.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” Jack promises, his voice dropping into something low, rough, rumbling in his chest so Rhys can hear the promise in his words against his back. 

“Actions speak louder than words, Jack,” Rhys taunts, reaching up to card his fingers through Jack’s hair, tugging harshly to make his point. 

“Alright, alright,” Jack laughs, straightening; one hand falls to Rhys’s hips, his grip _aching_ against the bones beneath his hand, and Rhys _moans_ when he feels the blunt head of Jack’s cock against his cunt, pushes back to get him inside faster.

“ _Shit,_ ” he breathes, forehead dropping to the desk as Jack’s laughter, low and dark, rolls over him in time with the movement of his hips. Rhys tips his head to the side, takes in the view of Pandora below them, and grins to himself for a moment - the view really is the same as the one from his office - before he shifts his focus to Jack, reveling in the slow way he’s working himself deeper, burying himself to the root in Rhys’s cunt. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Rhys purrs, pushing himself up onto his left arm, his right reaching around to pull Jack forward into a kiss that breaks apart when Jack’s hips press flush against Rhys’s ass. 

“Could say the same about you, kitten,” Jack laughs, breathless. “Shit, I hope you were serious about wanting those bruises.” It’s all the warning that Rhys gets before Jack pulls back, hips snapping forward, driving his cock back into Rhys, pushing Rhys forward, and Rhys shouts with the movement, the sensation that crashes over him.

“ _Yes,_ ” he moans, “fuck me, Jack - c’mon, give it to me.”

Jack grunts as he drives into Rhys again, setting up a punishing rhythm that Rhys _loves._ If Jack’s desk weren’t bolted to the floor, it would be moving across the dais beneath them, and when Jack’s hand wraps around his throat, pulls until Rhys is forced to lift his head, bow his back or risk choking, Rhys lets go completely, lets himself be as loud as he wants, lets Jack know what feels good, what doesn’t work, and what feels _amazing_ with no holds barred. 

His thighs are aching, his ass and throat are sore from Jack’s hands, and if he had the brain cells to spare at the moment, he’d be wondering how to convince Jack to do this again, because _holy shit._

“Fuck,” Jack gasps, bending over Rhys, mouthing at the already-bruised skin at the join of his neck and shoulder. “Shit, Rhys - ‘m close.”

“Don’t you dare fucking come before I do,” Rhys snarls, reaching back with his right hand, grabbing Jack by the hip, hard. “You’ve got two hands, Jack - _use them._ ”

Jack bites at his shoulder, but when Rhys bares his teeth, tightens his grip until Jack can’t move his hips without real danger of breaking his hip, Jack relents, reaches around and strokes his fingers over Rhys’s cock in a firm touch, pressing harder, faster, when Rhys eases his grip on Jack’s hip in reward. The tension that’s been building in Rhys’s gut coils tighter and tighter, makes him squirm beneath Jack’s hand until it finally breaks, leaves Rhys shuddering beneath Jack as he comes with a hoarse shout, whining at the feeling of Jack fucking him through it, drawing the pleasure out longer and longer until Jack finally stills behind him, hips pressed flush against his ass, hand tightening around Rhys’s throat until his vision goes spotty.

When Jack releases him, the rush of oxygen is almost as good as a second orgasm, and Rhys lets himself slump against Jack’s desk, panting, as he gathers his wits. Jack is a hot weight on top of him, and Rhys puts up with that for only a few moments before he elbows Jack in the side. “Alright,” he grunts. “Off, I don’t want you sweating all over my back, that’s just gross.”

Jack’s teeth nip at the nape of his neck, and Rhys shudders, tossing Jack a glare over his shoulder when he laughs. Rhys can’t help a soft noise as Jack pulls out, and he doesn’t mind the feeling of Jack’s come trickling out of him and down his thigh, not when it makes Jack’s expression do _that._ Adjusting his panties, Rhys turns around and pulls Jack into one last kiss, nipping at Jack’s bottom lip through the mask and smirking at the way Jack’s tongue meets his eagerly.

When he pulls back, Rhys is still smirking. “That was fun,” he hums, a hand on Jack’s chest to keep him from leaning back in. “But I have a dinner date with Vaughn and Yvette I really need to keep.”

Jack’s speechless for only a moment before he barks out a laugh. “Yeah, alright,” he snorts. “I need to clean up my desk anyway.” He steps away from Rhys, giving the both of them room to find their clothes and redress themselves. Jack casts a critical eye over Rhys, smirking before he says, “So, do I owe you dry cleaning?”

“I think you managed to avoid it this time,” Rhys laughs, stepping around Jack and off of the dais. His thighs _ache_ in the most wonderful way as he walks down the steps and towards the door.

Jack’s voice stops him when he’s at the door. “Hey, Rhys?”

Rhys glances over his shoulder, his hand on the keypad. “Yes, Jack?”

“I think you should plan on weekly meetings for the foreseeable future.”

Rhys grins. “I think you’re right,” he agrees, opening the door and letting Jack get a good view of the way he limps through before it closes behind him. He heads for the elevator, pressing the button for the floor of the restaurant that he’s meeting Vaughn and Yvette in. 

 _Yeah,_ Rhys thinks, allowing himself a grin where no one can see him. _Weekly meetings might be a good idea._


End file.
